


Legally Blond: A Destiel Retelling

by ang3lba3



Category: Legally Blonde (2001), Supernatural
Genre: Canon Typical Misogynistic Language, Fluff, Legally Blonde, M/M, Meeting Someone New, Moving On
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:52:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7851439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's boyfriend Aaron may have dumped him because he wasn't marriage material instead of proposing - but Dean's out to change his mind. </p><p>DISCONTINUED.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. August

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank Flo!
> 
> on tumblr at [this gorgeous blog ;)](ang3lba3.tumblr.com)

“Aaron!” Dean said, acting like he was surprised to see his ex. His ex, who had left him because he isn’t a ‘serious’ or ‘smart enough’ boyfriend. A mechanic with a GED and a history of sex work wasn’t exactly an ideal match for the heir to the Bass family line. 

Dean was here to change that.

“I totally forgot you go here.” His smile was plastic and syrup thick on his face. It didn’t want to come out naturally, no matter what he did, no matter how many times he’d practiced it in the mirror.

Aaron’s face wasn’t much better, frozen in lines that Dean would have recognized as uncomfortable if he wasn’t so busy pretending to be nonchalant. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Are you here to see me?”

Every bit of his body screamed that if Dean was, both of them should really get going.

“I go here,” Dean said, gesturing at the school building in front of them with the textbooks in his hands. 

_ “You  _ got into Harvard Law?” Aaron asked, face disbelieving and just that touch of condescending that Dean had fallen in love with.

“What?” Dean said. “It’s not that hard, really. I’d only have been concerned about the fucking student loans, but I got a scholarship because of my LSAT scores.”

“I’m . . .” Aaron shook his head, rubbed a thin, manicured hand across his face. “I’m late for class.”

He turned on his heel, strode his fine booty offscreen. Uh, into the doors. Dean headed for his own class, smiling.

This was going to work. He could feel it in his bones. His arm bones. His leg bones.  _ All the bones. _

 

_ *** _

 

Dean settled into the front of the class, because he wasn’t a bad boy teenage hooker coasting through high school until he can legally drop out anymore, and boys you’d take home to mom adult law students sit in the goddamn front of the class. He pulled out his early 2000’s laptop, plastered in Lisa Frank stickers from when Sam had the sticker phase and was putting them on everything they owned. He felt vaguely self conscious about it, mostly because everyone else is on touchscreen laptops with clean keyboards and the store stickers still on them.

The teacher gave a somewhat foreboding introduction speech that ended with “And those of you in the front row . . . beware,” and Dean began to regret his life choices. 

“Now, I assume all of you have read pages one to forty one and are well versed in subject matter jurisdiction. Who can tell us about Gordon vs. Steele? Let’s call on someone from the hot zone.

“Dean Winchester?”

Son of a  _ bitch. _

He somehow avoided the urge to open his book and start flipping through the index, but his fumbling answer wasn’t received much better for not doing so. Some guy named Victor piped up after the teacher makes it clear how stupid he was, and he gave Dean more shit than Dean thought was strictly fair. By the time he was dismissed from the room, he was ready to kill something and even more ready to go back to his dorm room and cry.

What the fuck was he doing here? He wasn’t cut out for this. Everyone who saw him, everyone he passed, could tell. 

He should just go home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *squeezes this in on the last day of the month*

Staring for this long, Castiel had been told, was rude. Thankfully, the recipient of his intense gaze seemed to have not noticed. 

Without truly directing his feet to do so, he found himself walking towards the man slumped on a bench, head tilted towards the ground and eyes closed. He seemed to be doing some kind of breathing exercises, and Castiel was loathe to interrupt him, but his instincts left him little choice.

"Are you . . . hurt?" he ventured. The pained, yet apathetic expression on the man's face would seem to indicate such. 

"Yeah," the man said with a laugh. "A little."

He paused. "I mean, not really. Fuck man, I don't know. Do they always put you on the spot like that?"

"The Socratic method is highly respected as a teaching style," Castiel said. It felt like the wrong thing, but he didn't know anything better, voice formal and stiff. 

"I always had the impression that Socrates didn't kick people out of his lectures if they got the answer wrong," the man replied dryly. His cheeks flushed a light pink under his freckles, as if he was embarrassed. Castiel wasn't sure what about. "Sit down, you're making me nervous. I'm Dean."

Castiel sat, staring straight ahead at the students milling about on campus instead of staring directly like he'd wanted to. 

"I am Castiel.” he paused, tried to think of the right words. “Professor Naomi is . . .”

"A stone cold bitch?" Dean asked, a hint of humor in his honey voice, but mostly frustration. 

"Old fashioned." Castiel allowed himself a smile. "To the point of fighting to reinstate corporal punishment, although her success has been minimal."

"Thank fuck," Dean said, shuddering a little. 

Castiel risked a glance. Dean was smiling at him, a soft thing with quirked lips that belayed his easy going nature. It made Castiel's heart do something uncomfortable, and he looked away as quickly as he could force himself to. 

"Any tips for—" Dean pulled out a paper from his back pocket, "—Michael, Gabriel, or . . . is that a fucking typo?"

Dean shoved the paper into Castiel's hands, and Castiel saw the last professor listed.

"No," he replied, quizzically. "Lucifer is very much his name."

"Fucking rich kid schools," Dean muttered, taking the paper back and staring at it. 

"Gabriel likes when you bring him candy," Castiel said slowly, scouring his thoughts for useful information. "Michael won't fail anyone, and will work with you extensively if you fall behind. Lucifer uses his own form of grading, it's in the syllabus. He doesn't particularly like to follow traditional teaching methods."

_ Traditional anything, _ Castiel thought to himself. 

Dean huffed out a laugh. "Lucifer, a rebel. Never would have imagined that."

There was a comfortable pause, as they soaked in each other's presence, and the beautiful fall day around them. 

"Really fucking lucky I met you, man," Dean said. "What are you, a senior?"

Castiel opened his mouth to answer, but another man walked up and Dean's face changed to one of near worshipful adoration. His posture changed too, leaning away from Castiel and into the other man. 

He knew better than to stay where he was no longer needed, and with a regretful glance stood and walked away before he could hear whatever conversation would happen between Dean and the one he looked at so lovingly.

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr at [this gorgeous blog ;)](ang3lba3.tumblr.com)


End file.
